Live and Let Live
by Night Strider
Summary: When someone dies, somebody mourns. Typical. But how painful is it to withstand guilt and blame? Are tears enough to quench the lingering anguish? One shot. SenRu. Pure drama for love sick dudes out there


Live and Let Live

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

Full Summary: When someone dies, somebody mourns. Typical. But how painful is it to withstand guilt and blame? Are tears enough to quench anguish? Is there solace in memories and in the past? What's remorse if faced with the inevitable and the irreversible? Is a love neglected worth glorifying? One shot. RuSen-SenRu. DEATH FIC SHIT.

A/N: This is gonna be the world's most OOC fic, ever. First time I'm writing a piece on Rukawa being the protagonist; I don't think he likes narrating himself though. Inedited so bear with the errors. Really short fic.

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He was drowned in suicide for a dual purpose; to forget and not to forgive.

Often he was an aesthetic piece of literature; a canvas of fluctuating shades, shifting faces behind a thick facade. His transparency never came to build itself in the open; he was obstinately introvert, never revealing the drastic attacks of his mood swings and always fixing himself in a cool, incurious guise with his customary Adonis-style smile. He couldn't have cared less, they would say; and if he wasn't the clear-cut mainstream superstar of Ryonan High Basketball Team, he was a couch potato in a pair of lovely sneakers. But few could estrange him from the stereotypical view of his acquaintances; beneath the crust, he was jumpy and deeper still, his ill-disposed spirit was plagued with fatal symptoms, slowly steering him to the eventual resolution of the mortal man. At any rate, he deserved to be the vengeful ghost of this untold tale, and he would name his price to claim the reward.

One moment it was there; the next one, it ceased to be. This is all they can gather from the enthusiasm of the defunct, fatuous harlequin we called Akira Sendoh, the hero in this spiral labyrinth otherwise known as little Kanagawa. In this sacred community, people go, some come, and a lover dies once in a while; just your occasional cyclical pattern wheeled by an almighty clique scientifically labeled as the population. But we are of the most contemptible prototype of human race. We do it; gave that much hell to our peers, fiends, comrades, and even loved ones. We push them to the demarcation line that borders on sanity, patience, and trust. And our ultimate agenda is to get them hoisted in a hearse. The bottom line? Love is like an empty casket; we fill it only to be buried. Overused? Couldn't agree more.

Is it any wonder why cold whispers are blown out of the blue? Or when a face long been engulfed by the filth of earth suddenly pops out of nowhere any random time? Or even witnessing a seemingly corporeal replay of a move once familiar to the eye? Is there someone who can give a prognosis for this impending illness? Is it hallucination? Pot overdose? Or a broken heart disease? I would've died easily had the latter been the case. A cock from a berretta would've cut it clean in a clock tick. I could've called to a halt all this madness that's been scourging me all the while, I would've been six feet below the minute I've been prescribed an antidote for a bruised heart. But no, because I'm your regular ice block anti social with a sign 'I don't give a flying fuck' carved on his forehead. I'm an aspiring stoic who doesn't give a damn about self-murdering blokes. I'm an over-reacting hypochondriac who despises everything that stands in opposition to himself. And I'm a dull personality with nothing interesting to offer for the betterment of this world. In short, I'm a bore and I shouldn't be caring a dime who kills who and what does it.

That I should be. I should've been giving them the hard neck the very hour I got wind of the news; somebody died while clinging onto his fishing rod. A major freak accident that would not justify even the most inaudible smirks from good for nothing sons of a gun who delighted in somebody else's RIP. Was I giving the whatever-goes nonchalance at the moment? No. I ran for it and hopped on my bike. It was a Thursday. A splendid, orange sun down whose sheen was reflected on the thick layered ocean, and underneath its flapping, bubbled waves, somebody was caught in a forceful torrent. A spiky haired beauty, whose face would've waged a universal war, was suffocated and swelled with waters. His veins stopped pulsating, his hedgehog hair dress flattened to a multitude of lanky pricks, the fish he caught for the day and his fishing bucket lay untouched on the sandy shores, and his loveliness thus became a magnificent 'engravement' in a lamentable past.

For a while, that's all I can pluck up from my memory hedges; Akira Sendoh died in a ridiculous circumstance. Being unable to cleave tightly, adamantly to his rod, he was pulled along with it as a tsunami-like current swallowed them both in its voracity. This I engrossed myself in as an irrefutable fact, refusing to recognize the real sorrow behind his death and the very cause why he had to cash himself that day, of all lovely days. In a word, I turned a plugged ear to anything that suggested suicide because...because that would've made me an accessory to murder and up to now, I refuse to consider making amends.

Akira Sendoh was not a jealous lover. If something had gone amiss or if he had detected something fishy, he would just flash a smile to the culprit, curtail the latter's denial with a hand stroke, and make him guilty at the sight of his unknowing smile. A confession would overturn all the damages inflicted; one word would redeem the criminal. He was godly; merciful and far-seeing, patient and considerate, slow to anger and quick to forgive, he was too faultless to be accounted among Kanagawa, or even, in this world. He was the model of anything that passed as a frenzy in this youthful world of caprice and senselessness. How was it possible then that a man as divine-like as Sendoh unwittingly met his downfall while attending to the most habitual time-killing that he had grown too accustomed of to be putting in that much of concentration? Didn't he always fall in a torpid doze while fishing? It was too normal an activity to be a site of death; everyone knew this, those who loved him, not the least. The death of Akira Sendoh wasn't an accident.

Guilt. To the deepest, holiest caverns in my soul, I know I was in many secret ways the catalyst of this tragedy. He couldn't suffice my wants; I went after somebody else. A liaison I devised to satisfy the sadistic pleasure that was shouting itself coarse inside me; I needed to stow away from the boredom of his company and find bliss in somebody else's. Did he say something, any harsh word, upon learning my infidelity? No. Did I confess? He found out himself. Was I repenting? Perhaps. He was afraid of me; he was frightened I would ditch him if he ever mentioned anything about it to my face. And realizing that I was incorrigible, he burdened himself with my sins and shed tears for them until the last straw was strung; at that, he decided to call it quits.

He cast himself to the sea because of the faithless lover that was me.

There where once a pair trudged the pinkish twilight under the skies, where the moonbeams flowed, where the sun set late, where the quavering starlight was mirrored in their eyes, where the misty dews draped on the sands and sprang upon their feet; a passion was exhausted after a mighty flare. And there also, I stroll about aimlessly; thinking...Would he condone me even in the end? Is it I whom he scorns now or is it my sins? He didn't leave me a message; perhaps, he determined to begrudge me the tranquility I would need once I got the full blast of my crime and now's the time...But if I cast myself to the sea even as he did, I would be with him...

END

A/N: Blast me. I don't like the pairing that's why I can't make it any better and mind you, it can't get any worse. I know SenRu fans would flood me with flames and I think it's fine by me. This is supposed to be a joke but I don't think it would pass for funny either. And one more thing, Rukawa's too OOC, I know. Thanks for reading. Have a nice day (If this didn't drive you to high blood pressure attack).


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